Moving On
by thepensword
Summary: Sam Winchester has lost more loved ones than he can count, but there is someone to whom he was never able to say goodbye, one person who never knew the truth and died because of it. (Sam/Jess)


**Title: Moving On**

 **Author: Bianca Valdez**

 **Pairings: Sam/Jess**

 **Characters: Sam Winchester, Jessica Moore, Dean Winchester**

 **Rating: T**

 **Spoilers: Season one, main premise of season ten, and references to things in between. It is suggested that you have seen through all of the episodes, but not necessary.**

 **Disclaimer: Rights belong to Eric Kripke and Co.**

 **A/N: In 10.18, 'Book of the Damned', and Sam and Charlie have a talk about hunting, and Sam opens with "When Dean came to get me at Stanford..." and explains how it was just going to be one last hunt, which then led to another, which led to another. In the midst of this he said "And then when I lost Jess..." and he sort of struggled to get it out, and I just thought to myself, My god, it's been ten years and he still loves her. So yeah. That's the story behind this story. Oh, and just to warn you: this is incredibly bittersweet.**

* * *

It was a funny little thing.

Just a small spell tucked away into the corner of a spellbook that Sam had been pouring through, trying to find something, _anything_ , on the Mark, as so far unsuccessfully. Not that he'd really been expecting to find a cure; that sort of luck would be fantastically out of character for his life.

And then he'd seen it. Miniscule print, flowery lettering, practically illegible, but there nonetheless. Sam had stared at it, unable to tear his eyes away. Unable to see anything but the words that told him he could speak to a loved one. A lost one.

Not 'lost' in a metaphorical sense. Not 'lost' in the physical, either. No, this meant, or so he believed, 'lost' as in well and truly gone. Forever.

Dead.

Supposedly it was one-use only. Supposedly the words would disappear forever once it had been cast. And if that was true, then the fact that Sam was looking at it now meant that it _hadn't_ been used before and, more importantly, _Sam could still use it_.

Of course, Sam knew that there were plenty of rituals for the bespeaking of spirits, but in every case the spirit summoned was never truly _there_. The soul had moved on, and the entity present was merely an afterimage. A reflection and a shadow of what used to be. It had the person's memories, their thoughts, but not their feelings. Not their heart.

This spell promised him not a summons or a shadow or an achingly tantalizing hint, but actual, true contact.

He knew it was selfish of him. He knew he should run and find Dean so they could decide together who to use it on, or leave it for more important matters.

He couldn't help it though. He had one chance at this. He could speak to one person and one person only, and the sad truth was that there were so many loved ones to chose from.

There was only ever really one choice, though. He wished he could speak to Mom, but he'd let her go all those years ago in the home that was never really his. There was Dad, but Sam had gotten to say goodbye to him. Just as he'd said his farewells to Ellen and Jo and Bobby.

There was one person, however, who he'd never bidden farewell because he never thought he'd have to. And though he'd never tell Dean, she was still in his dreams every night, her presence in his mind warding off the flashes of Hell which still plagued his unconsciousness.

Jessica.

He had her picture, so he could remember her face, but her face wasn't all of her. Her voice, her laughter, her fragrance—all that was gone. Lost, in a sense almost as severe as the one aforementioned.

She was supposed to be his everything. They were supposed to get married and have children and a dog and live in a white-picket fence. They were supposed to grow old together, spoil the grandkids, and sit on rocking chairs watching the sunset. They were supposed to spend the rest of their lives together, and they were supposed to die quiet deaths, side by side in their sleep as their elderly bodies peacefully gave in.

Sam was going on one more hunt. Just one more, and then he was out. He'd be back before the weekend was over, and then he'd resume his life. Maybe he'd even be able to stay in contact with Dean this time.

Then he _did_ come back and Jess was pinned to the ceiling, her blood dripping in tiny droplets onto his forehead, except that in his imagination the crimson liquid was gushing everywhere as his vision tunneled and the world erupted into flames.

Dean had been there to pull him out, but even now a tiny part of him wished that he'd just died in that burning apartment.

And now she was gone and he hadn't gotten to say goodbye.

This book, though…this book was telling him he still could. He could speak to her; ask forgiveness for not being there to save her, for not warning her about the mess his life was.

They hadn't been together for all that long, really, but somehow they'd both known it was going to be forever. She was perfect. And so, even though it may have been a bit rushed, he'd gone ahead and bought the ring. He'd planned to ask the question on January 24th—her birthday. Dean's birthday, too, and so for him the most special day of the year.

He'd never been able to give it to her, but maybe now he could. Show her what she really meant to him.

Sam stood and took a deep breath, smoothing his hair behind his ear. Then he looked down at the book and began to read aloud, heart fluttering in his chest.

His lips moved quickly, his voice trembling, and yet he did not stumble over a single word. When he finished, there was a terrible moment of nothing, and he felt a sinking in his chest. Something stung the backs of his eyes, and he chided himself for getting his hopes up.

Jess was gone and there was no getting her back.

Then the wind came. Rushing through the previously still atmosphere of the bunker, it swirled around Sam, nipping at his clothes and hair, before all was once again still.

Sam opened his eyes. The room was a mess, papers fluttering to the floor like petals from a flower.

Standing right before him stood Jessica.

Sam felt he'd never seen anything so beautiful as her, right then, right in front of him. He'd been afraid that she'd look like she had when he'd last seen her, pinned to the ceiling, dressed in an uncharacteristic white nightgown stained by a rush of scarlet, but that was not so. She looked the way she did in his photographs, in his distant memories of a long-ago summer, clad in jeans and a button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up. Her blonde hair fell in ringlets around her shoulders, blown back from her face by the maelstrom, and her blue eyes gleamed.

They were caught for a moment, unable to move, and then Sam was rushing forwards and scooping her up in his arms. Holding her tight, he inhaled her sweet scent, that fragrance that he'd been missing for so, so long.

"Jess—" he gasped, but was halted when she pulled him into a deep, passionate kiss, a kiss that expressed years and years that had been stolen from them. Tears streamed down both of their cheeks, and he could taste the salt on her soft pink lips.

Finally they broke apart, both gasping, both crying, both filled with equal amounts of unimaginable joy and pain, and all the words that Sam had wanted to say left him. He lifted one large hand to caress her cheek, strands of her beautiful hair tangling around his fingers, and she was warm and solid and _real_.

And then she spoke and it was _her_ voice, the one he'd somehow allowed to slip away, except this time he wouldn't forget it. He'd hold it close until the day he died, when he could see her again in Heaven and they could spend eternity together.

"Sam…" she breathed. Sam pulled her closer and leaned his head down so that their foreheads were brushing. "God, Sam, I missed you so much…"

Sam kissed her again, and though this time it was shorter it was just as desperate, just as passionate. "I love you," he managed to get out when they broke again for air. "Jess, I'm sorry," he whispered as he squeezed her close to his chest. "I'm so—"

"No," she breathed, closing her eyes. "No, Sam, don't be sorry. You have no reason to be sorry."

"But it was my fault. I should have told you!" Sam's voice broke partway through, trying to get across to her that even after years of regret, this one was the first one ever to truly matter.

"You couldn't have stopped it," Jess murmured, brushing her fingers through his hair. "Baby, I know everything now, but you couldn't have stopped it. The demon would have gotten me anyway. He wanted you and I was in the way."

Sam stared at her, the tears streaming faster. "I don't deserve you. I was never good enough for you."

"Don't you say that!" cried Jessica, and Sam pulled back a bit, startled at the ferocity with which she spoke. "Don't you ever say that! Sam Winchester, you are the only one who was ever good enough."

He wanted to protest but he couldn't find the words, so instead he just stared at her. She used one long, soft-skinned finger to brush the tears from his face.

"I love you. I always have and I always will, and when you die, which better not be for a long time, I'll be waiting for you."

"Jess…" Sam choked, squeezing his eyes shut and laying his head atop hers. Their bodies fit so well together, like two pieces of a puzzle or two halves of a whole.

"Did you ever try to move on?" Jess said after a long moment of blissful silence. "Was there anyone else?" Her voice held no bitterness, no jealousy, only sadness and worry and a hope that he'd somehow found a way to continue without her.

Sam nodded silently into her hair. "It was never right," was all he said, and Jess seemed to just understand.

"It's our apartment," she said suddenly, and Sam lifted his head so that he could stare at her with surprised eyes.

"My Heaven," she clarified. "It's our apartment at Stanford, from before the fire. Except it never feels quite right because you aren't there. I think it's designed after the place where a person was last happiest, except it doesn't realize that most people are happy because of the people they are with, not the place they're staying."

Sam gazed at her. Then he remembered. Briefly he let go of her and stuck a hand into his pocket. She watched him curiously, and her eyes lit up when he pulled out the ring.

"Jessica Moore," he said, dropping to one knee. "I never got to do this properly, but would you marry me?"

She laughed sadly and took the ring from him, sliding it onto one finger. Then she dropped to her knees on the floor beside him and threw her arms around his neck.

"Does that even need an answer?"

It didn't. Of course it didn't. They had years and years of unexpressed thoughts and feelings and yet now, together, there was really nothing to say.

"I get visitors sometimes," she said. "Angels, mostly, but sometimes other people. They tell me things, about you and your brother. And god, Sam," she kissed him softly again. "I'm so, so sorry."

Sam closed his eyes. Sorries were empty things, bland and flavorless and an attempt to understand something that was not understandable, and yet when Jess said it, it actually seemed to count for something.

"I love you," he said again. "I love you so, so much."

She met his gaze and her blue eyes seemed fainter. Sam watched in a panic as she began to slowly fade, desperate to keep her with him.

There was no stopping it, so she surged forward with one more kiss, and they kept kissing until she was almost gone.

Right before she faded completely, she pulled back and smiled at him sadly. "I'll be waiting," she said on a breath of wind. "But you have to go live your life now."

And then she was gone.

The ring fell to the floor with a clatter, the air faintly tinged with a sweet, flowery smell. Sam stared at the spot where she had been, tears streaming down his cheeks.

"I love you," he murmured one last time, but it fell on an empty room.

Dean found him an hour later, unmoved from his kneeling position, salt tracks on his face and eyes stained red, surrounded by a mess of papers and clutching a ring in his hand.

His brother asked no questions, somehow understanding what had happened. Gently he led Sam to his room and had him lie down in the bed. He sat down beside Sam until he fell asleep, and for the first time in a very long time, Sam's night was blissfully dreamless.

When he awoke in the morning, Dean was gone. He rose and threaded the ring onto a leather cord, tying it securely around his neck. Silently he picked up the picture that was by his bed, the one of Jess smiling so happily into the camera.

Then he placed it back onto the nightstand and, for once, did as he was told.

It had been ten years, but Sam was finally ready to move on.


End file.
